


It Finally Happened (Happened)

by MelodyMayhew



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: After the Bus, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, post-notpocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19839412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyMayhew/pseuds/MelodyMayhew
Summary: My dear friend, he tried to say,we’re all right. We’re here and alive and I can’t tell you how glad I am to be with you, what can I do to comfort you I’d do simply anything. Tell me what I can do.Unfortunately, what came out was, “Merrgh.”





	It Finally Happened (Happened)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _I'm Going Slightly Mad_ because Queen

They didn’t talk about the fact that they held hands on the bus home. They didn’t speak of the fact that Crowley, halfway through the trip, had leaned his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. They didn’t mention that Aziraphale had quietly laced up their fingers and shuffled closer to his side.

In fact, they didn’t talk at all. Not when the bus miraculously stopped at Crowley’s flat. Not as they dismounted, hands untangled but bodies still close. And they didn’t say a word when Crowley quietly unlatched the door, holding it open for Aziraphale with a small gesture that said  _ Here. You’re welcome as long as you like. If you like. _

Aziraphale just stood nervously in the foyer, unsure of what he was supposed to do next as Crowley busied himself with locking up.

Palm to the grain, Crowley closed the front door, turning the several latches and bolts with a muted snap of his fingers. Aziraphale heard him exhale and watched him pitch forward until his lean frame was propped at a withered angle against the door, face completely hidden.

Aziraphale took a tiny, nervous step forward. The lines of Crowley’s body remained rigidly tense. Aziraphale’s fingers twitched. He rather feared that if he touched any part of him it might snap, Crowley’s muscles ribboning off his bones until he had the sense to reassemble himself. Talking, he supposed, would have to do.

“Cr- Crowley? Are you--?”

Crowley’s hand, flat upon the door, twisted itself into a fist and he banged it loudly against the wood. Aziraphale jumped but made no move to step back. Between Crowley and the door, he could hear a mournful broken sound. It slipped out in stops and starts, and with each breath Crowley hiccuped back, the next cry came out sharper and sadder.

Aziraphale took a less timid step. He tried to speak but found his own voice caught up with the onset of tears.

_ My dear friend _ , he tried to say,  _ we’re all right. We’re here and alive and I can’t tell you how glad I am to be with you, what can I do to comfort you I’d do simply anything. Tell me what I can do. _

Unfortunately, what came out was, “Merrgh.”

The sound was odd enough, thankfully, that Crowley stopped his sad, strange wailing, although his body continued to shiver in a long tense line.

“Can you just…” Crowley swallowed audibly through words that seemed to pain him, “can you just hold me?”  
  


  
So simple was the request that Aziraphale felt a thrill of joy at knowing how easily he could deliver upon it, but speaking seemed to have broken the dam within Crowley and he just kept going.

“I know it isn’t- it isn’t what we do, we don’t  _ hug _ and I’m not- I--I-- don’t  _ expect _ , but Hell it’s been a long day, a long week, and I, well, I haven’t really - in so long, maybe ever, not with someone who  _ mattered _ , and you  _ matter _ , Angel, you matter so--ngah,  _ fuck _ , I’m sorry, this was a bollocksy stupid question just ignore--”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, with infinite patience and love, “do come here.”

Carefully, he patted Crowley on the shoulder and prodded him to turn round. Crowley did, slowly, his head loping down, chin to his chest, scarlet hair flopping defeatedly in his face.

Judging from the few wet plops on the tile by his shoes, Aziraphale had a good idea as to why Crowley didn’t want to look at him. So he simply gathered Crowley up into his arms, tucked Crowley’s head under his own, and held him with all of the love he had in the world.

(Which, coincidentally, was all for Crowley anyway).

Crowley made no move to return the embrace, just trembled, sniffling in Aziraphale’s arms. Aziraphale felt the dampness seep through his vest and button down, felt the quivering turn up a notch as Crowley slowly let himself break into pieces. Aziraphale, arms gentle, caught them all, prepared to knit them kindly back together once Crowley was done.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale, whispered, though his voice was choked and rough, “I’m here.”

At that, Crowley howled. “But you  _ weren’t _ !” His arms spindled out to clutch desperately at Aziraphale’s sides, his back, fingertips digging into every spot he touched as if to bruise was the only way to prove his friend’s existence. 

“My best friend,” Crowley gasped, “the only good thing I know, you were gone, I thought  _ forever _ , and it hurt and I was bloody scared, angel, you have no--God, you don’t know the half of it, how I-- what I--” and then he shook apart again, openly sobbing.

For the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale understood what it felt like to feel a heart break. The sound of Crowley’s cries sent a sharp pain cracking through his chest, like the clean blow of an axe. At that moment, Aziraphale knew he would do anything, literally anything in the entire known universe, to keep Crowley safe and to stop them both from feeling this awful unfathomable pain again - for as sure as he felt it, he knew Crowley’s heart was breaking too.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s hair, which had grown suspiciously damp itself. It only seemed to make sense to kiss the top of his head.

“I’m so sorry.” Another kiss, and a strange fleeting boldness made him nuzzle Crowley’s head. “It’s alright.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s temple. “I promise.” His forehead. “I will never leave you again.”

And then he kissed the bridge of his nose, and found himself meeting Crowley’s horribly wet eyes, shielded behind his nuisance fancy glasses. Aziraphale plucked them between his fingers and tossed them to the floor with a clatter. Crowley had the makings of a frown at that, but Aziraphale kissed that away too, continuing his line to bestow a kiss to each of Crowley’s fluttering eyelids.

Crowley shuddered again, but this time Aziraphale felt the difference, felt the sloughing off of misery and the added weight of something equally terrifying.

“Angel,” Crowley said, eyes still closed and voice frail, “don’t--”

And whether he was going to say  _ don’t stop _ ,  _ don’t make promises you can’t keep _ ,  _ don’t kiss me unless swear you’ll do it forever _ , or maybe all three, it didn’t matter, Aziraphale would never know, because his lips had taken up the offices of his brain. Before he could bluster his way into indecision, he was kissing Crowley, on his mouth, his upturned and beautiful mouth, and all the tears between them instantly transmogrified into those of joy and relief.

It should have been world-bending, kissing Crowley for the first time. It should have truly and well-thoroughly shocked his system, but it didn’t. It just felt like being home. Kissing Crowley felt like lingering on pages of a well-loved book, it felt like the first sip of hot tea after a rainy day. It felt simply perfect.

He stopped at one kiss, though it lingered, and waited a moment, letting Crowley decide what should happen next. Hope, Aziraphale thought, felt decidedly dangerous in this gossamer-thin moment.

  
And then Crowley pounced, kissing him freely, deliciously, fingers pressed into Aziraphale's cheekbones, sliding up and around his neck. He kissed with the exact sort of fiery hunger that Aziraphale expected of him, except beneath it all was an aching tenderness that, well, really upon examination Aziraphale should have expected too. He clung back twice as tight, holding handfuls of Crowley’s jacket in greedy clutches, so very desperate to bring him so close they could never be parted again. In fact, Aziraphale decided, they wouldn’t. He would just keep kissing Crowley until time stopped, and then he’d kiss him some more.

But then Crowley ripped himself free, bowed over at the waist, gulping in air.

“I’m sorry, sorry, m’sorry,” he chattered out, hands braced on his thighs, “that wasn’t - I didn’t--”

Aziraphale was, not for the first time, quite properly confused.

“You didn’t what?” he asked, after Crowley refused further clarification.

Crowley raised one hand and flapped it in Aziraphale’s direction. “Din’t mean to do,  _ that _ \--” He pointed where he assumed Aziraphale’s mouth was. “To, y’know, to--” his voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “ _ To kiss you _ .”

Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

“Well of course, you didn’t, my dear boy.  _ I _ kissed  _ you _ .”

Crowley bolted straight upright, eyes saucer-wide. “You WHAT?!”

He squinted at Aziraphale as though he had grown a second head. “But you,” he sputtered, “you don’t, you don’t even  _ like _ \--”

“Like what?” Aziraphale retorted. “Men? Kissing? You? Because I can assure you I like all three, but decidedly the third thing most.”

Crowley counted out on his fingers, mouthing the numbers out as he went. Then, as realization hit him, his voice dropped to a quavery whisper.

“Me?” Crowley asked incredulously. “You like… me? I mean, I know you  _ like _ me, but-bb--y-- you… _ really _ ?”

He pointed at Aziraphale, then back at himself, then back at Aziraphale again, one helpless eyebrow raised.

Aziraphale smiled and nodded. He felt rather pleased with himself for so effortlessly translating.

“Really,” he said with gusto, “very really.”

Crowley stared at him harder, looking an even mixture of giddy and shocked. “Do go on,” he said, although whatever smoothness he had intended was utterly ruined by the way his voice cracked on the words ‘do’, ‘go’, and ‘on’.

Aziraphale squirmed a little. “Well, I, that is… I rather more than like you. Much more.” Oh bother, his eyes were getting wet again. “I’ve much-more-than-liked-you for, well... let’s just say a very long time.” He cleared his throat, and looked away, feeling a bit guilty.

Crowley’s mouth was gaping open.

“This…you… WHAT?!”

Aziraphale winced. “I’m dreadfully sorry.” Taking inventory of his own fluttering heart, Aziraphale shook his head.

“Actually, I’m not. I’m not at all. If I’m sorry for anything it’s for not saying it sooner. I-I quite adore you Crowley, and I’m very well aware that you at least like me quite a lot too, so it may not be what you expected but I’m very glad I kissed you because it felt… It felt good. No. It felt right. And also good. And I think we should do it again. Lots. So.”

He shimmied a little in his spot. “There you have it.”

Crowley looked as though he might start crying again.

“You’re absolutely mad, angel. Completely off your rocker.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, yes. Love has that sort of effect, so I’m told.”

Crowley’s eyes went round and bright at the word ‘love’. He mouthed it once, clearly agreeing with the taste of it, and then in two lanky strides he had Aziraphale’s face in his hands and was kissing him soundly, wholly, and completely.

“Love,” he said, into Aziraphale’s mouth, “ _ love _ . You absolute bastard.”

“That’s not very nice,” Aziraphale murmured, even as he slid his fingers into Crowley’s hair, “I don’t even  _ have _ parents.”

“ _ Shut it _ ,” Crowley replied, and Aziraphale very happily did just that.

**Author's Note:**

> welp. this is my first fic in *checks watches* years. i blame michael sheen.


End file.
